Something Lost
by Sheamaru
Summary: Shortly after getting Delta, York bears witness to the Director's slip up...and suffers the cost of a good friend.
1. Chapter 1

**Series/Disclaimer:** Red vs Blue: Out of Mind, which I don't own.  
**Pairing:** None, really.  
**Warning:** Nothing much.

**Author's Note:** I'm uploading this now because I'm telling myself I won't be doing any more uploading today. When I get home I think I'm going to curl up and watch some Iron Man and...not be online. And stuff.

Plus I want to update my progress journal. I love doing that. Bitch. I'm going to work late to do it. Whatever.

**I NEED OPINIONS** on if I should go back and give this a part two. Mostly detailing York handling Wash after the incident or possibly the part where Wash loses Epsilon. Thanks much.

- x - x - x - x - x - x - x - x - x -

They were allowed to watch the process of other Freelancers receiving their AI but York never bothered with it. He'd already asked Delta, whose logical voice he was still adjusting to as it floated through his head, what the process had been like from his end. The answer had been clear and accurate, if not somewhat confusing. He couldn't be sure it was as cut and dry as he'd made it sound but it had been somewhat enlightening anyway. But it was hard to shake the feeling that he was only getting one part of the bigger picture and couldn't think of a better way to make it whole. Hence, standing outside the room where it happened.

"You nervous?" he asked the other solider standing in front of him.

A dark brow lifted over gray-blue eyes, "Should I be?"

York shrugged, "Nah, you'll be fine. Right, Delta?"

"Agent New York is quite accurate," the AI said, appearing beside the two of them, "Thus far, all of the implanted AI have been quite stable. By my calculations you have nothing to worry about, Agent Washington."

"See?" York grinned, nudging the shorter male in the arm, "Just takes some getting used to - you might be a bit dizzy."

"Correct. Agent New York is telling the truth."

"How many times do I have to tell you? Call me _York_," he instructed lightly, "Of all the instructions for you to ignore."

"My apologies, I will try to remember to do so in the future, York," he sounded like he should have been using air quotes around the name.

He sighed, not entirely convinced, "Thanks, Delta. Retire now."

"Executing." The hologram disappeared.

When he looked back to Wash, the agent was attempting to hide his laughter in his glove. Unfortunately, he couldn't hide the shaking of his shoulders and thus York's hand collided with his arm, "Knock it off."

"You're laughing too," he pointed out, "Is he always like that? Are they all that straightforward?"

"I don't think there's anyone or thing in the world quite like Delta," York confessed with a light chuckle.

Wash settled his laughter as the doors to the Implant Lab opened and techs appeared to check the names on the list with those coming in. Surrounding Freelancers all turned towards the motion, walking to the room in hurried steps that they tried to make look calm but failed at. Everyone wanted theirs first - but Wash hung back for a minute with the older agent. Both he and York stood watching them, and York felt a sense of difference rising between him and them. He hadn't rushed to get Delta, he'd been nervous and apprehensive. Did they know what to think now that others were already implanted? Were they confident in their outcome?

His eyes felt to Wash who looked like a tentative calm had settled over him; he was unsure and yet knew he should have been ready. York rested a hand on the other's plated shoulder, "You'll be fine, Wash. Delta hasn't lied to me yet."

He felt the lift and fall of a deep breath under his hand before the freelancer tugged his helmet on. His only response was a nod and he jogged forward, though something his movements seemed reserved. It was smart of him to be nervous, unsure of what the outcome would be and ready for anything was better than excited and stupidly confident in something so risky. York sighed, a slight sense of unease coming over him as he headed towards the spectator's balcony.

"York, I have picked up on a jump in your heart rate and a contraction of organ tissue," he explained, appearing before the other's eyes as he pulled his helmet back on, "Am I correct in analyzing this emotion as: Concern?"

"Yeah, sounds about right," he admitted, taking a seat beside an agent in black armor.

"Going by the results of previous implantations, I have calculated a 95 chance of Agent Washington's outcome being successful," he said.

"Why the missing five percent, Delta?"

"I have classified Agent Omega-Texas as: Unstable," he answered.

"Allison? She's always been hostile, Delta-" he interjected a slightly annoyed sigh, "You know what? 'Delta' is a pain…how about we cut it back to just 'D'?"

"I do not see the value in shortening my name, York," he might have sounded huffy were he a being of lesser logic.

"It'll cut down on talk time in battle," he tried, "Besides, you've been in my head for two weeks now. I think we can drop the formalities."

"Understood," he agreed despite the pathetic argument on his host's part.

"Quiet, they're starting," the solider beside them said, nudging his arm roughly.

York's eyes found Washington, somewhere towards the end of the rather short line. He stood with a stiff spine, focused on the back of the head of the person in front of him. It was hard to tell if it was because of his natural behavior or because of his refusal to watch the process. In reality, 'Implantation' sounded almost gruesome compared to what a simple process it really was. The immediate effects were minimal - some nausea and dizziness, passing out. It wasn't easy to get used to another voice in your head right from the get-go and some of them were overwhelming. Delta hadn't been, but York was told he had collapsed - he didn't remember it.

Washington stepped up and remained completely still as the various technicians bustled around him. Wires were connected into his helmet and armor, linking him to various monitors and computers that people dressed in the same tech clothes soon stepped to. A mechanized female voice called over the speaker; the exact one that had announced his name alongside Delta's for the first time. He could only imagine Tex, Wyoming, and North having heard the same. It was something like how York imagined an angel; there, almost sweet, and completely neutral.

"Agent Washington-Epsilon."

"Epsilon?" He heard Delta's voice call through his head and almost questioned it but the sudden start of the process caught his attention.

The real Implantation Process was entirely inside the helmet; between the agent and his AI. Aside from not having much interest, it was another reason York never bothered to watch; the intimacy made it hard, if not impossible, to tell what was going on. However, it had been mutually agreed that the freelancer remaining still throughout the process was a good sign. It was almost like a shock to the system kept them upright and functioning, allowing the real weight of it to catch up with them later. The effects showed afterwards, once the disconnecting was done - so when Wash didn't make it that far, it was painfully obvious that something had gone wrong.

Immediately after the special enhancement finished uploading to his armor, the AI process began. Less than two minutes into it his hands flew to his helmet and a scream ripped from the speakers, amplifying it to the point some of the soldiers on the balcony flinched. Several of the techs ran forward while the others pounded furiously on the keys in attempts to stop the process. The windows to the balcony suddenly locked off, sheets of metal baring anything else from view but York had already got up and started down the stairs, jumping quite a few of them in his rush.

"D, what's doing on?"

"I am not sure, though I believe they have implanted Agent Washington with an unstable AI unit."

York turned a corner, the door to the lab already in sight, "Unstable how? Like Omega?"

"No," Delta began but with the sudden appearance of a tech from inside the door he was forced to quiet.

"What the hell is going on with Washington? What did you do to him?" Screams still crawled through the door before it managed to shut. York already knew they would be haunting him tonight whether or not he wanted it.

"There was a minor malfunction in the process. Agent Washington will be receiving our full attention," he said, giving the most vague answer he could.

"What did you give him?"

"That is classified informa-

"What is it, D?"

"My apologies, I do not-"

"You said Epsilon!" he turned, as if Delta was someone behind him that he could turn his anger on, "What is Epsilon to the Alpha?"

Their discussions on the topic had been brief, but within the first week it seemed that the Alpha was the only thing that Delta could discuss. He didn't know everything, but he knew enough that York had received more insight than he probably should have. The process was vague between Delta's explanation and the Director's lies, but he understood that there were a certain number of AI in the bunch that would inevitably be unstable. Delta couldn't have weeded them out either - though it was the only explanation for what was happening.

Delta hesitated, "Memory. Epsilon is the Alpha's memory."

A feeling of overpowering cold surged like a hurricane in York's chest and he turned so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash. His hands found the tech's jacket, fisting in it to yank him closer, "You gave him an unstable unit! If you knew it was unstable then why-"

"I am sorry, Agent New York."

It sounded like a doctor saying they were sorry for the loss of a family member; hollow, knowing there should have been some feeling there but not bothering to place it accurately. The words stood there in plain sight, meant for comfort yet meaning absolutely nothing at all. Somehow, York's hands fell away from the tech's jackets as though he had been hit with a tranquilizer that numbed only his arms, and the tech left. As if those words alone would make the entire situations alright he disappeared inside and left York alone with the ringing in his ears.


	2. Chapter 2

It had been four days before anyone besides a tech or medical aid was allowed to see Wash. Even then, visiting 'civilians' (York never once thought he'd be referred to as a _civilian _after becoming Agent New York) could only go in one at a time and the length of their stays were strictly monitored. York hadn't been the first to stop by but North Dakota had warned him of the imposed restrictions when they passed in the hall. He'd also mentioned that Delta probably should stay quiet as Wash seemed to be reacting 'poorly' to AI. They both took the advice but York couldn't shake the pulsing agitation in his muscles. _'He's fine' my ass._

When he walked in, his eyes instantly found the brunette freelancer on the bed. Wash was almost completely still, much of his body covered in a white blanket and York was struck by how much more this resembled an open casket than a hospital visit. Under normal circumstances, then bleached color of the sheets might have contrasted his skin tone but his extended stay, even though it's length wasn't particularly long, now made him match. A folded cold cloth rested over his eyes and blocked them from the light, making only his lower jaw and the strands of chestnut hair visible.

Several machines used their whir and beeping to draw his attention, monitoring only a few things that he could recognize. Pulse, brain patterns, breathing. Two of them were easy to decode but he had never been good with reading brain patterns. However, even with his limited knowledge he got the feeling things weren't normal up there.

He wasn't sure how long it took for him to finally step up to the bed. Normally Delta's voice would have chimed through his head and snapped him back to reality. It seemed kind of stupid considering the AI hadn't been implanted that long ago but he found that relying on him was incredibly easy. He was the kind of blatant rational that York had been lacking much of his life and without that gauge he probably could have been standing there for two hours; but he was pretty sure that hadn't been the case. His hand reached out to pull a nearby chair over, taking a seat to wait for Wash to wake when an organic sound disturbed the artificial fillers.

"Who is it this time?" Wash asked. His voice was tired and somehow flighty - like he was ready to yell for a nurse if he had to.

"York," he said, partially laughing in the attempt to brush off the tone, "Should've known you were awake."

"Don't sleep much," Wash confirmed, turning his face towards the elder, "Would you mind?"

York almost asked but Washington's movements provided the answer. He looked down as the freelancer tugged on his wrist only to find them constrained to the edges of the bed. The thick cuffs were hidden by the bed sheet but they effectively kept him from moving his hands more than two inches. Despite the constraints, Wash's hands looked relaxed and…normal. It seemed so strange that he could treat being constrained to a bed as though it were such a day-to-day activity. York frowned at the work, eyes flicking back up to Wash as he worked on unfastening them.

The freelancer had already turned his face towards the ceiling again, his mouth set in a loose but straight line. He seemed content to stay quiet but within minutes lips parted in anticipation of the question to come, "They're to keep me from scratching my eyes out." He seemed so neutral as he explained that York almost felt as if Wash had said something different and he'd imagined the words himself, "Apparently I do some crazy stuff in my sleep."

"You don't say," he replied a tad grimly, walking around the bed to finish the other. He caught the movement of Wash's hand up to his face to remove the cloth out of the corner of his eye.

The only thing familiar about the eyes underneath it was their color and even then the jittery paranoia had warped them - like he thought York was going to attack. He tried to ignore it as he found his chair again, leaning back as Wash sat up, but it was like trying to ignore a bright red splash of paint on a white wall. Everything about him seemed stunningly different yet he could sense the thin layer of subtleness that the younger freelancer had tried to wash everything with. York reminded himself that the only thing he had to compare it to was the Wash he remembered talking with him before the process began but that just made it worse.

Wash slid his hand through his brunette hair, pushing it away from gray eyes and turning his attention to York. The slight awkwardness triggered the memory of something cold in his pocket despite the fact he had been closing his hand around it every time he had no where to put it.

"Here," he said, passing the bottle up to the fellow freelancer.

Wash quirked a brow at the bottle which forced a grin to appear on York's face, "Chocolate milk?"

He shrugged, "Figured you could use something with some actual _taste_."

"Right," he scoffed, but had already cracked the top and was picking at the seal keeping him from the liquid inside. When he finally managed to peel away the barrier he twisted the cap back on and gave it a few good shakes before taking a sip, "Not as good as alcohol."

"You're old enough to drink?" He joked.

"You know," Wash smiled, shaking his head but York still found his eyes again, "You only make yourself seem old when you say that?"

York shrugged again, a gesture that some people had said he probably _invented _with how much he used it, "Still younger than Reggie."

"Because _that _helps your case." Wash rolled his eyes and took another sip of the chocolate milk, turning the bottle in his hands to look at the nutrition facts. He wasn't really interested in them, they both knew that, but York was slightly thankful that he had avoided the undeniable strain that would have come if they continued to look at each other.

"How are you doing?" York attempted, hoping that the change of subject would appear more discrete if he followed the lingering strands of their previous conversation. It was a stupid hope but he was good with that anyway.

"Fine," Wash replied somewhat quickly, "Still a little unstable but they say I should be able to take missions again within the week."

"Which week?" York asked before properly assessing his words. His voice lacked real belief in the statement, which only seemed to annoy Wash, "They can't mean this one."

He frowned, "What's that mean?"

"You're clearly unstable if they have to _tie you down_, Wash," he argued, sitting forward in his seat. The eyes focused on him reflected something like a flinch but still remained firm with some unseen or sensed determination. York noted that there was only a touch of readiness where there should have been overflowing confidence.

"That's what the rest of the week is for," he stated, as though it were an excuse.

"A couple of days?"

"Epsilon is fine, I just wasn't ready for him," Wash snapped. York felt his eyes squint slightly, as though he were trying to tell if it was genuine anger or mounting paranoia. "I can't afford to fall behind, York. You know how we freelancers work."

"How about how us _humans _work?" he reached out, closing his hand over Wash's. He felt fingers twitched in response, as if Wash wanted to pull away or thought the touch would hurt. York felt like someone had hit him in the small intestine. "You need some recovery time and that's fine. North and I can cover your tabs until you're good for missions. Back-to-your-old-self good."

Wash 's previous hesitation dissolved and he jerked his hand out from under the larger one and closed both of them on the bottle of milk in his lap. His frown and furrowed brow set there as well, as if he couldn't honestly put the blunt of his anger on York. The older freelancer sighed, running his hand through his dark hair because he couldn't think of any action that would amend their growing argument. His own hazel eyes diverted to the side, feeling an odd sense of guilt at focusing his look on him. Different emotions, same result. He almost tried talking to Delta but recalled North's warning and in the end, it was Wash's voice that called him back from the familiar depths of his own thoughts.

"It isn't just the money. It's…just something else," he sounded tired and somewhat lost, "I won't be useless or fall behind. I _can't. _I appreciate it, York. But-"

"Yeah, I get it," York replied, knowing the burn of pride that drove him to act irrationally. Lately Delta had been helping him quite a bit with that but it was a human thing. He was gradually getting more and more certain that they were chosen for this program based on their levels of pride alone. No one here didn't react to that burn.

Wash only nodded, taking another long drink of his chocolate milk and lowering it to half. York watched him twist the top back on, wiping his hand along his mouth, and set it on the small table beside his bed. Another silence, an absence of sound that York was growing increasingly familiar with, stretched between the two of them like a compensating filler for their lack of words. Once again he wanted to ask Delta's opinion of what he should do and once again found it strange that they had only been together for a short while and he was already so dependant. Delta served as a familiar backbone, someone to check himself against, and it was strange not having him to ask in complicated situations.

It wasn't like the AI could have appeared anyway; without York's helmet, his presence was in mind alone. That was still enough. He didn't need to _see _Delta to know that he was always there somewhere inside his head. But even then, it took a vocal command for him to respond despite their highway of shared thoughts. York was certain there was nothing more complicated than the intricacies of an implanted Artificial Intelligence.

His mind continued to reach for thoughts pointlessly, not knowing where to turn the conversation despite the obvious. He could have tried making another joke but he was never particularly funny and one look at Wash's face would have stopped him anyway. There was the option of leaving but he didn't feel done, like this entire visit would have been a waste if he just got up and walked out now.

_Epsilon?_

"How is Epsilon, anyway?" York asked as though something were speaking through him. Both men looked particularly shocked before Wash shook his head and looked back to his lap. Were the answers there or was he just hoping they would appear? "His thoughts are hard to focus," he frowned, "It's sort of…scattered and random. Paranoid, almost."

"Doesn't sound that useful," York replied.

"Don't say that." It seemed like it would have once been a joke but Wash founded defensive and hurried.

"Sorry-"

York barely got the word out before Wash was on him again, "We've been laying in this room since the implant. How am I supposed to know our uses if I haven't had the chance to leave this damned place?"

He wasn't exactly sure what response would fit so he opted for no response at all, though it didn't stop him from noticing variables in the sentence. York tried to recall how he referred to Delta; separate identities. He was York, Delta was Delta. They weren't a single being necessarily, though he had occasionally referred to him 'we' to imply a friend in conversation. But Wash's use of the word was different, more like Epsilon was another person inside of him rather than an AI. Their implantation wasn't a whole thing, simply a program put into their minds; they didn't share an identity or a body and yet that was what Wash implied.

Sometimes. _He went back to calling himself 'I'_. But…what did that even mean?

"Wash," he started but Wash lifted his hand to his head, covering his eyes as his mouth twisted into a grimace. One of the machines came to life with hurried beeps, causing York to stand as if though they were gunfire. "Wash?"

"We're…_I'm _fine. Just…get out," he mumbled through gritted teeth, apparently having already known what York just realized.

York suddenly felt rushed, like he had so many things he needed to confirm before he left. The urge to question rose in him so sharply that he almost didn't know what to do with it. By the time he figured out where to begin and what to say, the sudden appearance of nurses and techs seemed like enough of an answer.


End file.
